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Thursday, October 31, 2013

Happy Halloween!

Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year. Shame I live in the middle of nowhere and can't do anything today and I'm not in much of a state to go out anyway, but hey. Such is life.

A friend recently told me I'm going to die alone. I stated that was ridiculous. Absolutely absurd. All my best friends are ghosts. They'll totally be with me.

And the best part? I've got a skeleton friend on the inside. He know's what's up.

The answer? Ghost birds. Lots and lots of ghost birds. And they all hate you. Don't look up.

I'm going to tell a true story to you all right now. This story didn't take place on Halloween and wasn't nearly so scary as most campfire tales. It's also not the type of story I tell to people for reasons that will become obvious soon.

When I was a teenager I lived in a house with four other guys. It was a convenient roomate situation. The house was nice, conspicuously cheap, and other than weird cold drafts, totally comfy. That is precisely the setup for a ghost story. Which is exactly what this is.

In between drinking crates of soda, playing D&D and doing what nerds in their teens and early twenties do, we loved to play with neat little technological toys. One of those was the black light. That was when we discovered some rather conspicuous stains that we could only barely see without it.

A very large round stain in the middle of the living room, followed by drag marks into a bedroom (not mine) into a closet, where there was another very large stain. A closet that was always cold. Which, let me tell you, is quite convenient in the middle of the desert. If I'd had that room, I'd have hung out in it all the time, but I digress.

Having discovered the stains, we got the bright idea to check some newspapers. And sure enough, we were living in an actual honest-to-goodness murder house. And worse, the landlords were too cheap to change out the carpet. They hadn't even done that good of a job of cleaning it. It's kind of gross.

The story, it turns out, was not some mysterious tale of intrigue. It was almost disappointing. Some teens had had a party there, and two boys had gotten into a fight. Over what, we never found out; the article never said. They'd been drinking, and one of them pulled a knife out. A girl jumped in between them to try and stop them from fighting just as he swung the knife. Between the newspaper and the stains, we puzzled out what happened.

After they'd stabbed her she stayed bleeding on the carpet while the two boys panicked. The police showed up, and they dragged her into the closet in an attempt to hide her, where she bled to death. The police were not fooled.

This is the point where I should point out that although I was nerdy, I WAS a teenager, and I was actually not bad looking since I worked out. I was probably the only one in the house that could be said of. I also noticed a lot more of the mysterious cold breezes than anyone else - both before and after we found out about the murder. Particularly when I was alone, or getting ready for bed.

Well I thought nothing much of it. I've always been neutral on the existence of ghosts. Still am. Maybe they exist; maybe they don't. But this experience has led me to believe that maybe they do. And then I blush, and realize it's a bit ludicrous to use THIS as an example.

I was alone in the house. There was absolutely no one else there. Everyone else had already gone to work, and I was hot and groggy, since I'd just woken up. Once again, this was in the desert. So I figured I'd take a shower. I felt a lot of strange cool breezes, but thought nothing of them by this point. It was comforting in the heat. If the ghost wanted to fan me, I was fine with that. So I get undressed, I hop in the shower, and I feel kind of strange for some reason. Not uneasy or bad, just strange.

Then I hop out of the shower, and before I can grab a towel, I hear something.

I've been all over the world; seen a lot, done a lot, but I've never heard anything like this sound before or since. It was the sound of a girl orgasming in a rather unique way.

I can't really describe the way it sounded, save that it sounded very much like a girl very loudly cumming her brains out, weirdly echoey and distant like it was coming from the other end of a vent with a fan in the middle while still in the same room. At the same time it didn't exactly sound like that. It's really hard to describe. "Weird trippy girl voice loudly cumming her brains out" is the best I can do.

Well, I put on my WTF face, searched the house, and found that no one had accidentally left a porn vid playing or anything. The place was quiet. Nothing in there could make a noise like that.

So I put the dots together. Only teenage male in a house where a teenage girl died. A lot more strange cool breezes than the others. And now, a girl's voice orgasming as I stepped out of the shower, totally nude. A voyeuristic ghost girl was schlicking it to me.

This idea did not freak me out. It made me feel extremely embarrassed since I also felt proud of it, which is incredibly silly. I don't know if the girl was cute before she died since the newspaper didn't give a picture or even a name, but I'd like to think so.

Well, real or just a trick of the imagination, I now have a distinct love of ghost girl porn. I moved out of that house not long after that because the building got demolished to make some sort of bigger luxury house, but I was a bit more... exhibitionist after that experience. No more echoey girls cumming, but there were still lots of breezes.

I still don't know if it was all imagination, but either way, I got to live out a real life ghost story! The kind that doesn't end with calling for an old priest and a young priest or an excess of unnecessary tape recorders and a fresh corpse or anything. When I was there, I never once felt that I was threatened. I felt good there. To this day, I'm not the least bit frightened of ghosts.

But if anything, I took this away from it. There could be a cute ghost girl behind you, schlicking it to you watching porn, right now. Turn around and give her a smile.

I didn't believe in ghosts until I ran into something in NM. A friend had his father die after he'd gone batshit crazy (totally paranoid, persecution complex from hell, allowed his dogs to crap all over the house, stockpiled 40-50 guns and a LIVE rusty hand grenade that looked Vietnam era, etc...). He'd told me a lot of stories about things happening at his house after he'd died but I can't verify any of those. A lot of them are typical vengeful ghost stories, but I did notice that the more time my friend spent in the house, the more paranoid, self centered, and more like how his dad was behaving right before he died. I can also vouch for the fact that I felt like something didn't want me in that house, but that could've just been the dog feces and mice droppings.

The day that changed my mind about ghosts was when we were looking for a missing pistol, me and him were in separate rooms when we both heard someone say "Found it?" in a mocking tone. We searched the house from top to bottom and found no one, the doors were frigging loud so no one could have left the house, and while there was an open window nearby there is no friggin way that anyone could have been near it without making a lot of noise given the ground outside it. Immediately after we met up after searching the house my friends cell phone went nuts and called a friend 10 times in a row, faster than I've ever seen a cell phone connect to anyone. He was holding it in his hand for over 5 of these calls and there is no way he was pressing any buttons or manipulating it in any way.

After all the rest of the stories I'd heard about that house, and after witnessing that, I became convinced that something was in that house. I don't think that whatever the heck I ran into was a dead person, I just know it was evil as hell. After cleaning that house it seemed that whatever was in there had left and he sold the house. The problem is that the family that's living in there right now has started to develop the same personality traits that I mentioned before, people walking their dogs will literally cross the street so they don't have to walk in front of the house, other animals will randomly growl at the house, and the house is starting to fall apart again. Now I think we should've burned the damn thing to the ground after removing the explosives...

If the dead paranoid father's ghost is in that house, then you might have been dealing with a standard host possession where the ghost forces the inhabitant of the dwelling to take on the ghost's regrets and personality. So long as the possession doesn't last too long and the ghost never makes contact with possessed host there shouldn't be any permanent effects on your friend.

Pretty much since he working on the house my friend has recovered from the personality shift for the most part. I'm more concerned for the family that is living in the house right now and there's really not too much that we can do about it. Paranoid individuals with persecution complexes tend to not be the best people to talk to about ghosts.

It wasn't like in the movies where someone suddenly has their personality completely twisted. It was more of a personality shift, and he never went as batshit crazy as the family that's living in there right now. There are other differences between standard ghost stories and that house. Numerous people spotted red eyes in the house before the new victims moved in, the voice we heard was NOT his dad's, and most ghosts don't try to kill their sons with ceiling fans (the light portion of a ceiling fan fell when he was organizing DVD's, it missed him by "inches" and the only reason it didn't hit him on the head was that the wires connecting it weren't quite long enough). I will acknowledge that my friends Dad was always a paranoid nutjob, but his paranoia went to new extreme's the last couple years of his life. I suspect he might just have been another victim of whatever the heck is in there... And no, I have no clue how it initially got in there or where it came from.

That is quite honestly the funniest story i have ever heard(read, whatever. i have an overactive imagination Don't judge me!) do mind if i put that up on my FB? obviously anonymously but my friends would totally find it hilarious.

So.I just wanted to say that Overwhored is probably one of the best sexy RPGMaker games I have ever seen. And this is not because of the premise (cool), writing (cool, although the scenes are slightly too short for my liking), or graphics (well... cool.).It is that you have great sense of humour, brilliant way of conveying it and talent for kinky writing. The only thing that could probably make it - imho - better would be a stronger separation between "sexy" and "funny". But generally I just wanted to tell you that you are awesome. Do you happen to namefag on /tg/?

While overall I agree with your post, I feel the need to intervene on one point with pseudointellectual nerdry. Namely your statement that "the only thing that could probably make it - imho - better would be a stronger separation between "sexy" and "funny"."

Of course, that is an opinion - a fact I shan't critique for obvious reasons - but I believe that going through with it would be counterproductive to the overall project on two levels. Namely:1) On the level of style and consistency2) On the level of mechanism by which porn operates

I will address the first one because it is both more concrete and less pretentious.

Namely, as you yourself have been kind enough to point out, Cypress_z happens to have a great sense of humor. This has helped to create a rather unique that Overwhored currently possesses - at least to my experience as a h-game consumer. Hentai - to varying degrees, but never completely - has been done "seriously" before. Therefore, to separate the author's humor from the h-scenes (arguably, one of the most important aspects of a h-game) would be to remove uniqueness from a good part of it.Then, there are the matters of consistency. If there happened to be a separation of two styles, the transition between them would be highly jarring. It would be like you were enjoying this awesome coffee joyride, when all the sudden someone slipped you a cup of caffeineless coffee.Of course, there is also the problem of authorial consistency. Overwhored has gained a following which expects a certain style to be applied. Changing that would alienate some of them - of course this is a peripheral concern, as any art, should it be genuine, shouldn't be created for someone, but rather as an expression of the artist themselves.

Now the time comes for the pretentious Freudian bit. I can hear you squealing in delight.

So, according to certain figures in the psychoanalitical movement, there is a reason why all of porn takes a certain detachment from reality - most often manifested in ridiculous plotlines and silly cheesiness. That reason, before you ask, is not writer's incompetence (though such can result in extreme detachment).The reason is that if you, say, accidentally walked in on someone having sex you'd feel awkward as hell. Sex, in our culture, does have intimate connotations, and intruding upon that intimacy is not something that is taken kindly by our society with its rules and mores (or, in Lacan's words, the Big Other). As such, to avoid this sort of unintentional voyeurism and allow us to actually enjoy what we are witnessing, porn takes a detachment from reality - generally in being cheesy as fuck. This allows us to behold an otherwise intimate act that has, for our pleasure, been ridden of the intimacy and reality as such. With the Big Other's influence unfelt, our superego is pretty much all like "yeah, fine, go ahead and enjoy."

With the rise of amateur porn, of course, there has been a certain shift away from this cheesiness, but again not a step closer to reality. Instead of finding its detachment in sheer absurdity of itself, this sort of more "serious" porn takes the form of a documentary (of all things!), wherein the camera is often focused on the specific action, or else taking perspective of one of the, ah, actors. This sort of "seriousness", of course, lets you know that the act unfolding before you is about as intimate as your average scientific study, ergo allowing you to enjoy.

Why is any of this nonsense actually relevant? - One might find themselves (rightfully) asking. It is relevant because altering the balance Cypress_z has achieved would be undoing quite a bit of genius this game possesses.More concretely, the approach to porn seen here is brilliant. Whether intentionally or not, the author has managed to embrace everything porn is by default - effectively cutting away any unnecessary facade while simultaneously managing to keep it just serious enough for us not to think that Overwhored is too silly.

So, to summarize the unseriousness of Overwhored is exactly its greatest achievement.

Also: Gotta love how a post about a ghosturbation ended up with me ranting about crap no one cares about. Feel free to draw conclusions about my social life and/or lack of thereof.

And finally: I'd like to thank Cypress_z for making Overwhored. It's awesome and so's its author.

I have never really heard the term "schlicking it" before and I find it hilarious. It might be interesting if you put a ghost girl into the Overmind's never ending harem of epic sexyness. Also, what is namefag? I may consider myself a nerd, but I don't really do a good job of keep up to date on quite a few of new terms that have been created in last few years.